


Falling in Love in a Library

by JehanFerres



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angsty Aziraphale, Anniversary, Crowley and Feelings, Crowley is a soppy boyfriend, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-29
Updated: 2014-10-29
Packaged: 2018-02-23 03:38:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2532710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JehanFerres/pseuds/JehanFerres
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One book went missing from Aziraphale's book-shop. Crowley has a surprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling in Love in a Library

**Author's Note:**

> The original title of this one was "this is so fucking gay" and I did struggle to think of a better title. As you can probably see.

“What’s in that bag, and why are you hiding it from me?”

Of course, Crowley knew he would need a cover story for why he’d been out all day–hence, in fact, why he had taken two bags, one of which now contained the book he had, somehow, found in a local bookshop, hidden under piles of newer books. His cover story, however, was flawless.

“New plants,” he said, pulling two orchids out by their pots. “Aaand…” He carefully reached into the bag, “coffee cups.” Aziraphale obviously wasn’t entirely convinced, but sighed with frustration at the plants, which were now languishing on the coffee table. He picked them up, and relocated them to a windowsill.

“Why you need more plants is a mystery to me,” Aziraphale sighed, raising his eyebrows as Crowley went into the kitchen to put the cups in their proper place. “If you really loved me, you’d make me cocoa!” Aziraphale called from the living room. Crowley cackled, and miracled a cup of cocoa for Aziraphale, and a cup of mocha for himself.

Aziraphale chuckled as Crowley flopped down on the sofa with his head in the angel’s lap, after leaving their drinks on the coffee table. The shoulder bag, containing the book, was hidden under the sink (unoriginal, Crowley knew, but Aziraphale was not a huge fan of cleaning products).

Aziraphale started lightly rubbing his fingers over Crowley’s temples, prompting a small, puzzled hum from the demon. “You want something.”

“You don’t generally hide plants, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, grinning. “Also, you’re very sweet.”

“And you are too good for this world.” Crowley rolled his eyes. “What do you want, Angel?”

“I already said,” Aziraphale said, scratching Crowley’s temples lightly.

Crowley hummed pleasurably, reaching for Aziraphale’s hand and kissing his knuckles. “I already told you, Angel. Coffee cups and plants. _Nothing_ out of the ordinary,” he drawled.

“I will wheedle it out of you,” Aziraphale said, although he still hadn’t stopped doing what he was doing to Crowley’s temples.

“By killing me with kindness?” Crowley quipped, slightly arching one eyebrow at Aziraphale. As gentle as he was with the angel, he did sometimes doubt his intelligence, just the slightest bit.

“Well, you never know.”

Crowley allowed his eyes to close.

“Also,” Aziraphale said, “I’m working under the assumption that this has rather been going on for too long for surprise presents–so is there anything you particularly want for our Anniversary? Seven hundred years, and all.”

“We have all we need here, I think, Angel,” Crowley said, simpering up at Aziraphale. The aforementioned angel rolled his eyes, blushing the slightest bit.

“Well…” Aziraphale sighed quietly, looking down at his hands. Crowley sat up, wrapping his arms around Aziraphale. “Thank you, dear,” the angel mumbled against his shoulder, hugging him back. “Regardless,” Aziraphale said, looking towards the clock, “I’m in no mood to drag you down. What say we go to bed?”

Aziraphale was still melancholic.

Crowley knew that “go to bed” was code for _Aziraphale_ going to bed and sulking for a while, while Crowley tried to do something to break him out of it, and eventually gave up and drunk coffee until it ran its course.

“You aren’t dragging me down, Angel.” Crowley sighed. He didn’t _do_ sincerity, either of thought, word or action, but if there was one time to start it was now, he supposed.

“Well, I am a misery, at the moment.”

“You’ve every right to be. So’ve I.” Crowley held him tightly. “But… if you want to sleep, then we should. But ‘go to bed’ means ‘go to bed’. Sleeping, and not moping.”

“I’ll try.” Aziraphale’s eyes were glazed with tears.

Crowley sighed, pulling him close. “Ange-” He tried again. “Aziraphale, you… didn’t make me go through all that…” He waved a hand, “shit,” _Pompeii, the Great Library, the Plague, the Inquisition, the Great Fire, the Somme_ , “on my own. I know you don’t think it’s ‘as bad’, but _you_ shouldn’t have to do all this on your own, either.”

“But- I-” Aziraphale turned to him, eyes wild and filled with tears. Crowley wanted to hold him until it stopped, but he knew that, in the long run, it wouldn’t help. Instead, he put his arms around Aziraphale and lightly rubbed a hand up and down his back. “That was- that was _real people_ , Crowley! Real people, with real lives and-”

“Angel. _Don’t_.” It wasn’t a warning, but Crowley didn’t want to talk about it, and he knew that Aziraphale didn’t either. “What matters,” he said, pulling Aziraphale closer and resting his chin on top of his head, “is that you let me _help_ you. Rather than letting it get to this.”

Aziraphale whimpered, pressing his face into Crowley’s shoulder. “I’m being melodramatic. Even you think so.”

“I don’t. I’m just… not up to thinking about all that yet.” Crowley stroked his hair and ran the heel of his hand slowly up and down Aziraphale’s back, pressing lightly against the angel’s spine.

“You haven’t talked about any of it,” Aziraphale informed the crook of Crowley’s neck.

Crowley shrugged, resting his cheek on top of Aziraphale’s head. “I haven’t needed to, Angel.”

It was more that he hadn’t been able to face it–but this was more about Aziraphale than it was Crowley. He didn’t want to trouble the angel with his own problems, or at least not now. Crowley knew that Aziraphale was usually going to be willing to listen: just not now.

Aziraphale’s head was against Crowley’s shoulder, and the Angel seemed less upset. He was still a little shaky, his arms wound around Crowley’s neck, as Crowley hugged him back.

**Author's Note:**

> The working title was better.


End file.
